


Equal and Opposite Reaction

by queenofdoomandkites



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Dick's temper gets away from him a bit, Gen, Post-Season/Series 02, Some insinuations, so he mouths off, some language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 16:43:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12511764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofdoomandkites/pseuds/queenofdoomandkites
Summary: After the events involving the Reach, Deathstroke was captured. This is not a stable situation.Nightwing responds to the alert that Deathstroke is making an escape attempt. The fact that the two have a bit of history (and Nightwing just pulled off one hell of a mole operation on the Light) means that the situation is not necessarily that simple.





	Equal and Opposite Reaction

Dick raced down the corridor, alarms blaring in his ears. His heart was currently residing in his throat. He knew what was coming.

The door to the holding area slid open as he punched in the code. Guards were scattered about, in varying states of consciousness. Dick ran up to the nearest one.

“Status report?” he prompted, helping the man to sit up.

“Prisoner is currently in the storage room. He’s cleared out the rest of the guards. We’re all that’s left.”

“Are there any other exits besides this one?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Dick helped the guard to his feet. “You and the other guards need to get out of here. I’ll handle the prisoner.”

The guard looked at him like he was crazy, but did what Dick had instructed. Dick took a steadying breath, and moved further into the wing.

He saw no one else as he made his way down the hallway toward storage. There hadn’t been a need for the guards to be all out by the entrance, so why had he…

Dick winced. He could guess why.

A quiet beeping noise from behind the door as someone on the other side punched in the code to open it prompted Dick to slide into a fighting stance. The door hissed as it opened, revealing a one-eyed man. He looked at Dick and smirked.

“Figured you’d come after me,” he said, settling into a stance of his own.

“Well,” Dick bantered back, “I heard you were having a party, and I just had to crash it.”

The man huffed out a quiet chuckle.

“Still looking to have the last – “

He lunged. Dick scrambled back, avoiding a sword slash by a hair. He flipped back, trying to put some distance between them, but the man kept close, crowding Dick back down the hallway toward the entrance.

A small misjudgment on the location of a cart was enough to throw Dick off, allowing the man to grab Dick and pick him up. Dick had a moment to register his new position, and what was about to happen, before he went flying through the air, his back hitting one of the walls of the entrance room, and sliding to the floor.

Dick groaned quietly, pushing himself to his hands and knees as slowly as he dared. He looked up to see that the man had taken advantage of the situation to make for the door.

Dick’s stomach clenched. He couldn’t allow the man to escape. He shifted up into a crouch, pulling a batarang from his utility belt and throwing it at the access panel in one fluid motion.

The batarang embedded itself in the screen just ahead of the man’s hand, shattering it and locking the door down. The man stilled, then turned back to Dick, who was still crouched on the floor.

“Well, if you’re that desperate for my attention,” Deathstroke said, looking down at Dick, “I suppose we can always go a few more rounds, Nightwing.”

\---

_The first time the Team encountered Deathstroke, Dick had been fourteen. It was the middle of April, about four and a half months after the Starrotech incident. They were on what had seemed to be a simple escort mission, which had then turned into a trap, with the supposed civilians they were supposed to be helping to safety turning out to be members of the League of Shadows. The Team had dispatched almost all of their opponents easily._

_Except for the man who had called himself Dane Lisslow._

_The one-eyed man had proceeded to wipe the floor with them. It was only because of the contract the man had been on that the Team hadn’t ended up seriously injured. Dick and Artemis ended up being the last ones standing, and both agreed that the man had seemed almost…approving, at the end._

_When the Team reported their failure, they were surprised to hear that Dane Lisslow was an alias for an internationally-known assassin, known as Deathstroke the Terminator. He was way beyond their level, and gladly let the League take over clean-up for the mission._

_Two weeks later, Dick and Artemis were on a patrol in Gotham when they ran into him again._

\---

Dick ducked under another sword swing, bringing one of his sticks up to block the backslash, while lashing out with the other. Deathstroke twisted out of the way, and brought one of his knees up to try and catch Dick on the chin. Dick shoved himself into a backwards somersault, and reset.

So far, the two had kept the second round of their fight in the entry room. Dick knew that only about half of that was due to his own efforts. The rest was Deathstroke allowing him to avoid the cramped hallways, despite the advantage it would give the older man.

Dick knew he was in a bad situation. He had managed to stop Deathstroke from leaving for now, but that had turned the fight into a battle of attrition. Dick was in good shape, he had to be in order to survive as a non-powered hero, and his stamina was good, but it was nowhere near Deathstroke’s, who was both incredibly fit, and a Meta on top of that.

Deathstroke lunged again. Dick tried to retreat, but his back hit the wall. He managed to block the first couple of fists, but the third snuck in past his guard, and hit his floating ribs. Dick winced, but still tried to retaliate with a strike to Deathstroke’s head.

Deathstroke caught the incoming stick, and dragged it down, pulling Dick’s arm with it even as Deathstroke’s sword swung around and rose to meet the stick.

There was a cracking noise, followed by a clatter. Dick drew his arm back. Half of the stick was still clutched in his hand. The other half was on the floor.

Both fighters paused for breath, then Dick lunged to the side, dropping the useless half of his stick and falling into another somersault. Deathstroke let him go, straightening, and kicking the two halves of the stick into a corner. Dick rolled back to his feet, and turned to face Deathstroke once again.

\---

_Deathstroke continued to pop up occasionally on patrol and missions, sometimes fighting them, and sometimes just watching them. Dick was fifteen, and preparing to pass Robin on to Jason before he figured out what the mercenary wanted._

_It was on a patrol again, this time with Dick on his own. He landed on a rooftop, already thinking about the next location for his grapple, when a staff came out of the shadows and slammed into his stomach. Dick doubled over, the breath driven from his body. It didn’t take long to regain it, thanks to his training, but in the time it took, he should have been attacked again. The fact that he hadn’t narrowed the number of people his mystery assailant could be down to just a few. Dick scrambled upright again, scanning the rooftop for his attacker, hoping that it was just Jason or Artemis messing with him, and not –_

_“You should really keep track of your surroundings better, Robin.”_

_Deathstroke. Of course._

_“What do you want, Deathstroke?” Dick snapped back, turning to face the one-eyed man walking toward him._

_“Despite initial appearances, to talk to you, not to fight you. Although –” Deathstroke’s voice turned sharp at Dick’s motion toward his utility belt, “– that will change if you call for back up. Your choice.”_

_Dick’s frown deepened. He didn’t like where this was going._

_“You’re saying you’ll only attack if I contact people?” He clarified, “But if I don’t, you’ll just talk, instead of taking advantage of the fact that I’m on my own to, I don’t know, take me out for the Shadows, or something?”_

_“That’s about the gist of it,” The older man confirmed, “Although, I don’t want to take you out, just to be clear.”_

_Dick narrowed his eyes, but found himself easing out of his fighting stance, nonetheless._

_“…Why?”_

_Deathstroke chuckled. Dick’s bad feeling worsened._

_“I have a…offer to make to you,” Deathstroke explained._

_Dick did not like this. He didn’t want to hear the offer, would rather continue in blissful ignorance of why one of the world’s top assassins had taken an interest in the Team…or him. But information was valuable, too valuable to just pass it up when it was served up to him on a silver platter like this._

_“…I’m listening.”_

\---

Dick’s back slammed into another wall. He was going to have a monster bruise back there by the time this was over. With a wince, he brought his fists back up into a guard. His second stick had met a similar fate as his first, and the pieces of both were lying in a corner somewhere, out of the way so as not to trip either fighter up.

Deathstroke came back for another attack. Dick waited as long as he dared, then lunged to the side. This turned out to be a mistake, since Deathstroke grabbed one of his trailing ankles and yanked.

Dick found the direction of his momentum rapidly reverse direction, even as his leg protested at the treatment. Deathstroke sent Dick hurtling toward yet another wall. Luckily, Dick managed to tuck in, and turn in mid-air, so he hit the wall feet-first, ankles and knees unfortunately feeling the stress of the impact, but not adding another bruise to his growing collection. Dick pushed off the wall into a shoulder roll, using the momentum to come to his feet once more.

His breath was coming in short, sharp bursts. Dick was getting tired. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep going, keep Deathstroke occupied until backup arrived.

“You’re team’s not coming, Nightwing,” Deathstroke suddenly called out, speaking for the first time since they began round two.

“Are you a fucking mind reader, or something?” Dick blurted out, fatigue and stress breaking down his brain-to-mouth filter.

“No, I just know how you prefer to operate.”

Deathstroke seemed content to let Dick catch his breath, so long as they were bantering.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” Dick said, “Why isn’t the Team coming?”

“Because only you got the alert,” Deathstroke replied, matter-of-factly, “I’m sure they’ve noticed something is wrong, but by now, it’s too late. They won’t get here in time to stop me.”

“So why haven’t you knocked me out and left?” Dick snapped, “We both know I wouldn’t be able to stop you.”

Deathstroke chuckled. Dick’s temper was fraying, and they both knew it.

“Did you want to spend some alone time with dear old me?” Dick asked, a mocking edge entering his voice, “That’s sweet. Or really creepy. Actually, let’s go with the second one.”

Deathstroke began to stalk toward Dick. Dick backed up, but hit the wall again all too soon. Still, he couldn’t stop running his mouth.

“You do realize you’re not my type, right? I tend to look for people closer to my own age, not creepy assassins more than old enough to be mistaken for my –”

Dick was cut off by a sharp blow to his still aching ribs. He tried to crumple down around them, but Deathstroke grabbed the hair at the back of his head, and dragged him upright.

“That mouth of yours is going to get you into serious trouble one day, Nightwing,” Deathstroke told him, faux-affably, “Would you like a demonstration of how?”

“Not really, no,” Dick wheezed out, watching Deathstroke with a new sense of trepidation.

“Hm. Too bad.”

Deathstroke let go of Dick’s hair. As Dick’s head dropped back down, Deathstroke’s knee came up, catching Dick in the nose. Dick’s head snapped back, Dick only barely managing to avoid slamming it into the wall again. He slumped down against the wall, looking up at the larger man looming over him.

This next bit was going to hurt.

\---

_Dick turned down the offer. But the idea had been planted. He thought about it after a failed mission. He thought about it whenever they tried to determine what the Light’s plan was. He thought about it after an exhausting training session where it felt like they got nothing done._

_It was…risky. Wally would yell at him for even considering it if he knew. But the opportunity it made available was seductive. The amount of information they could get on the Light was tempting. They might even be able to succeed on missions without furthering the Light’s plans…_

_Dick didn’t particularly like the mindset he got into while thinking about the offer. It felt too cold, too much like…_

_He thought about it after Jason’s death. After Tula’s death. After Wally and Artemis quit the Team._

_He almost told Kaldur about it when the older hero came to him with the plan. When Artemis (and Wally) were brought in, he almost blurted it out, the desire to stop them, to take this all on him rising up and nearly drowning him. But…there never seemed to be a good time. A good way to explain why he hadn’t told them in the first place, why he had been thinking about it for the better part of the past three years._

_He thought about the offer when Kaldur went undercover. When they faked Artemis’ death so that she could join him. When everything seemed one wrong move from falling to pieces._

_Then Deathstroke became the Light’s chief enforcer. And Dick found a desperate, crazy plan forming in his head, even as he raced across Blüdhaven’s rooftops._

_Deathstroke was waiting for him._

_“You’d better have a really good reason for me not to reveal you’re friends’ true intentions to the Light, Nightwing,” the man growled._

_For a second, Dick hesitated, his breath caught in his throat as he was hit with the enormity of what he was about to do._

_Still, no time for regrets. No going back. There was only one way he could think of for Deathstroke to leave the rooftop with his friends’ lives and covers intact._

_“Is that offer of yours still open?”_

_“Start talking.”_

_He had him._

\---

It felt like every part of his body was aching. Dick groaned, trying to push himself to his feet. He made it about halfway there before a hand clamped around his throat. Deathstroke dragged him up until Dick’s feet were dangling above the ground. Dick clawed uselessly at the hand restricting his air supply as Deathstroke considered him.

A moment later, Dick was once again being slammed into the wall. His back hit, worsening the growing bruise. His head didn’t. Dick reopened his eyes to see Deathstroke nearly nose to nose with him.

“Time’s up Grayson,” the man growled, acknowledging the elephant in the room, “It’s time to fulfill your end of the deal. I’ll give you two days to set things up on your end, then I expect you at the rendezvous point three days from now. Understood?”

The hand around Dick’s throat relaxed slightly, enough so that the younger man could speak.

“Understood,” Dick hesitated, licking his bloodied lips, then adding, “sir.”

“Good.”

Deathstroke let go of Dick’s throat. The smaller man collapsed to the ground. There was a blur of motion in the corner of Dick’s eye, then darkness swallowed him up.

\---

_“So? Do we have a deal?”_

_Dick tapped his foot while waiting for Deathstroke’s answer, nervous energy thrumming through him. The older man was leaning against one of the building’s rooftop vents, arms crossed as he watched Dick._

_“I keep quiet about Aqualad’s true loyalties, and Tigress’s identity, and allow the Team to achieve victory at the end. In exchange, you agree to work under me for one year afterwards, with no contact with your allies. This all correct?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“…You must be pretty desperate, to be whoring yourself out like this.”_

_Dick’s temper, already short from the sheer amount of stress that he was dealing with, snapped._

_“Trust me, if I was whoring myself out to you, you’d know,” he snarked._

_Deathstroke stared at Dick in shock for a moment._

_“Your internal filter breaks down when you’re pissed, doesn’t it?” he finally observed._

_Dick glared. Deathstroke sighed, and pushed himself upright._

_“I’m sure this will come back to bite at least one of us,” he said, making his way over to Dick, “but I suppose that’s half the fun of it.”_

_Deathstroke stuck out his hand._

_“You’ve got yourself a deal…Richard.”_

_Distantly, Dick was aware that he should be freaking out more over Deathstroke knowing his secret identity. But it wasn’t really a surprise at this point. Besides…_

_“Glad we could come to an agreement,” Dick said, shaking Deathstroke’s hand, “Slade.”_

_…It wasn’t like Dick couldn’t return the favor._

**Author's Note:**

> This spawned from my love of the Young Justice cartoon, and the Apprentice Arc from the animated Teen Titans series. I might write more in this 'verse, but the next part is a lot longer than anything I've ever really finished, so who knows.


End file.
